


Just breathe

by Loveisshadytreeservice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asthma!sam, Awesome!Dean, Gen, john winchester isn't a very good parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveisshadytreeservice/pseuds/Loveisshadytreeservice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asthmatic Sammy and awesome Dean- teenchesters </p><p>Dean is 16ish and Sam is 12ish</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer I wish with my entire being that I owned them. Or Metallica. Either way
> 
> warnings: bad grammar
> 
> My life has been a series of un-wellnesses, several of them being severe and persistent asthma induced, and during the times when my lungs cease functioning and I can't see straight and it hurts too much to move, I find myself in an endless search for fanfictions in which the characters feel the same way I do.
> 
> I am severely disappointed in the lack of asthma supernatural fics, because while the few that exist are typically very well written, some are ill-informed and none of them quite grasp what I am feeling exactly.
> 
> And I know that everybody's asthma is different and whatever, but I sometimes need something that goes with what I have, not necessarily what is common.
> 
> And so, as I consider myself an expert in the field, here is a Supernatural Asthma OneShot.
> 
> Enjoy :D

He always knew when one was coming on.

He could feel it, like those stories you hear on the news about animals that could sense earthquakes, and he always knew when it was going to happen.

But the problem wasn't that he was unprepared.

The problem was that it was no easy task to tell anyone, especially a father as strict as John Winchester, that he couldn't breathe. He would tell himself it was nothing, that the tingling that started in his feet and hands was from the breeze not the lack of oxygen. He would tell himself that the pain starting in his stomach was just carsickness and that the pain in spreading like poison through his head was just a migraine, nothing to worry about. Nothing a little over the counter pain medication couldn't fix. And so Sam sat, with his head resting against the cool glass window, watching the telephone poles zipping by at a million miles an hour and he ignored it.

Because pain might insist on being felt, but it does not insist on being acted upon.

"You alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked, staring at Sam in the rear-view mirror.

"It's Sam." He scowled, never taking his eyes away from the window. "And I'm fine." But of course he wasn't, because the pain in his stomach was getting worse and what had started out as a tickling sensation in his feet now felt like a million tiny needles stabbing just through the first layer of skin, not drawing blood, just enough pressure to make sitting still uncomfortable.

"Fine! Sorry for being concerned!" Dean stated sarcastically, though he knew he would be keeping a watchful eye over his little brother until they could stop for rest.

The kid wasn't looking too good, his face was a little too pale and he pretended not to notice the little jiggling movements of his brother's legs that he knew were impossible for Sam to control.

Sam knew he would have to tell them sometime, no matter how much he tried to avoid it, but for now, he could continue to tell himself he was just tired after a long day on the road. He tried to hide the first cough, like he always did, more because he didn't want to believe what was happening than anything else.

"You sure you're okay, dude? We've been driving a long time and I'm ready for some food anyway." Dean said, using his own excuses because he knew Sam would never allow them to stop because of him.

"Hey dad, can we stop and get something to eat? I'm starving!" Dean said, pointing the question at an already tired oldest Winchester.

"Sure, I don't see why not, I was thinking about stopping for the night anyway, It's getting late and I'm getting pretty ..." His thought was interrupted by a yawn. Dean smiled and turned his attention back to the now shivering form in the back seat.

The Impala pulled off the highway, next to the sign that advertised food. The small town they now drove though was just outside of Billings, Montana and the sky was dark enough to see the stars.

"Hey dad, why don't you find us a motel and I can go pick up some burgers or something, if you want." Dean said, trying to clue his father in on Sam's odd behavior.

John, for once, took the bait, whether or not he meant to didn't matter as long as Sam was somewhere where he could rest comfortably.

Sam, on the other hand, wanted to just keep driving because that's often what he thought he needed. To just to keep going and leave all the crap behind. But he knew it wouldn't be that way for long, it was just another stage. By the time the small family pulled into the Lucky Stars Motel, Sam was nearly in tears.

One of the worst things about it was that he knew he shouldn't be, that he should be brave and strong and unafraid of stupid little things. But he was afraid. Because his stomach felt like somebody had stabbed him knives all the way across and was now twisting them in in circles, dragging the pain is slow and steady circles, made worse by every rattling cough. And his back hurt like he had been hit by a thousand trains and broken every rib, bruised every muscle, torn every ligament every tendon.

His whole body ached with every movement. But he got out of the car anyway and smiled through gritted teeth and he straitened out and grabbed his bag from the trunk.

Because Sam Winchester, was fine.

After John had checked his small family into the motel, he walked to the last room on the end of the building and unlocked the old wooden door.

The room was halfway decent, although it smelled like old ladies and cigarette smoke, it was a place to finally sleep.

"Dean, salt lines." He said to his oldest as he flopped down on the bed closest to the door.

"Kay." Dean acknowledged as he came through the door, slightly pushing Sam forward in the process. But Sam didn't want to be inside.

Because inside smelled like smoke and cat fur and a fine layer of dust was visible in the moonlight, coating every surface in a layer of fine seemingly iridescent white that apparently only he could see.

"I'm going to go take a shower." Sam stated as he walked quickly to the bathroom without waiting for any response.

But he needed to be alone. Because sometimes alone is the safest way to be. Because when you're by yourself, you can let the tears fall and let the pain show through on your face and lay on the floor for ten minutes before you find a position that's comfortable and you can just exist without being reprimanded for weakness or being cared for when you aren't ready.

So he closed the bathroom door, turned on the shower, and lay down on the dirty linoleum floor, not bothered in the slightest by the dirt or the water stains as long as it made something hurt less.

\--------------------

Back in the main room of the motel, John fell deeply into a surprisingly peaceful slumber, his first in many nights. With his line of work, the hours were unpredictable and the shift never ended. His soft snoring echoed over the running water as he tuned out the rest of the world, at peace knowing that Dean had salted all the entrances and has gone to pick up dinner.

—-/-/-/-

Dean hadn't wanted to leave Sam. He wasn't even going to until Sam had announced that he was going to take a shower and he figured if the shower lasted five minutes and the diner was two doors down, he could be back in time. But the line to order and pay was five people long and there was limited staff to offer assistance to anyone, particularly not somebody who wasn't from around town.

So five minutes faded into ten and fifteen and after twenty minutes, the older Winchester started back to a new place called home, food in hand, mind on his brother.

"He probably just went to bed or something. Quit worrying." Dean said aloud to himself. Nobody else walked along the sidewalks at that hour, so there was nothing to hear but the wind and Dean's heavy footsteps.

/////////////////

It had begun. The tightness in his chest had risen to an unbearable level, leaving him exhaling for too long and inhaling for not long enough and sounding like a broken hamster wheel.

He tried to keep his mind on something- anything else, but that is not always easy to do when half of your brain is slowly starting to turn off. His vision was blurry and he hardly noticed when the door to the motel room was unlocked with a click, signaling his brother's return.

His eyes were leaking tears he did not have the energy nor the mentality to stop as the door was pounded on. He did not have the energy to do anything and that is what scared him the most.

////////////

The second Dean opened the door he could tell something was wrong. The water still running coming from the bathroom was his proof. John lay sleeping on the bed next to the door. Before waking his father, Dean walked to the bathroom door and knocked, expecting a snide remark, but all that greeted him was the soft sound of water on tile.

"Sam, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in." Dean threatened as he stood impatiently. After Sam didn't answer yet again, Dean pushed open the door, thankful that it wasn't locked.

"Dammit." Dean cursed as he saw what he had been fearing all along. Ever since that shtriga attacked Sam as a seven year old, the boy had suffered from severe asthma, having up to 5 attacks each month. Sam glanced upwards at the sound of Dean's words but he could not take in enough air to respond more than a wheeze.

"Alright. Okay. I gotcha. It's okay now." Dean spoke softly, as if he were talking to an injured animal. Dean placed one arm under Sam's knees and the other supported his back as he carried him back out into the main room.

He placed Sam lightly on the bed before asking him where his inhaler was. Sam just stared blankly at at him, his mind not contemplating the words coming out of Dean's mouth.

"Sammy, I need you to answer one question for me, okay? Where's your inhaler?" Sam's focused on on Dean for a short time while he struggled to inhale enough oxygen to form words.

"Back *gasp* pack" Sam managed to say, the two syllables putting him out for the count as he attempted to find a position that that helped both the intense pain he was feeling as well as allowed the most air into his body.

Dean nodded before rushing off to find the prized albuterol, turning the shower off in the process.

"Okay Sammy, you gotta breathe for me dude. Girls don't want a guy with blue lips." Dean joked as he tried to keep his own fears in check. Because he hated this. To see his brother who hadn't cried since he was eight and had broken his arm, with tears streaming down his face. To see the way the pain shaped him, leaving him deathly pale and awkwardly seated.

His years of experience in taking care of his brother allowed him to talk calmly in a way that made the situation less stressful. He eased his way back so that he was sitting behind Sam, and he pulled his brother into his embrace, letting him lean against his chest.

"Okay you know the deal Sammy," he spoke softly as he rubbed circles on his little brothers chest, willing his lungs to cooperate. He placed the mouthpiece of the blue and silver canister in between his blue tinted lips and waited to get the rhythm before pressing down, releasing bitter tasting medication into a hopefully accepting mostly closed trachea.

"Hold it, kiddo," he reminded gently, continuing his ministrations while his brother wheezed, though slightly less congested this time. But he still sounded like a broken vacuum, sucking in all the dust instead of the air. He had a white knuckled grip on the quilt atop the bed and beads of sweat formed across his forehead.

"Alright one more time. One more and you'll be okay." And he would be. After the pain faded and he was able to breathe again. Give it ten minutes and he would be tired confused and still a little shaky, but he would be okay.

The canister was pressed again, sour tasting air inhaled, and the wheezing faded more yet. But the pain was still there. The stomach would fade in thirty minutes tops, but his back would hurt for weeks. Constantly sore, constantly aching.

Dean hummed Enter Sandman by Metallica while he waited and soon after the second chorus was through, Sam slumped against him. His breathing still rugged, but air was flowing almost freely in and out.

"You good?" A nodded response. "Good."

Sam turned his head into Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes. His grip on the quilt loosening. He still felt like he was burning from the inside out, like he was part of some exothermic reaction, hell bent on destroying his every cell. But the worst was over.

"Dude you're sweating on me." Dean laughed. Sam smiled weakly and moved his head back and fourth so that more sweat transferred from his hair to Dean's shirt.

"Alright kiddo, get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." Dean whispered to his now sleeping little brother, their father still in the depths of dreaming and unaware of his son's difficulty. But then again, that was okay. Because even when the world was against them, Sam would always have Dean to turn to.

And that's the way it would always be.


End file.
